


sink and drown

by Ominous



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cruise Ship, First Meeting, Fluff, Hopeful Ending, M/M, POV Andrew Minyard, and andrew thinks hes very hot, neil is a cruise ship magician act, some classic gay disaster andrew, some suggestive elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29044743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ominous/pseuds/Ominous
Summary: The lights of the lounge flash in rapid succession; blue, yellow, pink. It's always fast, small blips that pierce his eyes, followed by an unnatural five seconds of darkness. It's enough to give Andrew a headache, because it's enough to light up the stage.It's fucking enough time for him to see the true color of those eyes; they're ocean blue, and infinitely bored. They pin Andrew to the spot, and they piss him off because they aren't looking at him. They're staring through him, like the man on stage would rather be anywhere else.And some part of Andrew would give anything to know more.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 38
Kudos: 200
Collections: AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2021





	sink and drown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likearecord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likearecord/gifts).



> Here's my gift for the mixtape exchange! I had a lot of fun with this song (which was so new to me btw), and playing around with a new andreil scenario! I really hope you enjoy it <3 
> 
> Song: Gorgeous by Taylor Swift

Andrew begins to think he should've never left his room.

And why here of all places?

The liquor sloshes gently due to the turbulence on the lower levels, and he breathes in sharply, expecting the sting of seawater. But instead, it's just whiskey, and something too clean. Bleach and polish, disinfectant dumped on every surface. He wasn't sure what he would've expected a cruise ship to smell like, but falsely clean was not it.

It's not possible for him to be disappointed, when his expectations were abysmal to start with.

And now...now he's just pissed, because those non-existent expectations have been met and exceeded.

It's nothing to do with the ship.

No, the ship had been unnaturally quiet when Andrew decided to venture out into the narrow halls, past the laughter in other cabins and rolling maid carts. It’s a never ending maze that sometimes ends in restaurants and game rooms. He tries to count the elevators at one point, but even his memory is of no help. He finds another.

Too blaring, and then suddenly too empty. That's the best way to describe it, but perhaps he should've been satisfied with what he'd had. Then he wouldn't be in this situation. The clapping around him intensifies, and a chill goes through Andrew.

His toes don't curl.

Nope.

He shakes his head and it feels like he's underwater. His attempts to escape had been futile. The silence and slosh of his economy cabin threatened to drive him to the brink, and the ship activities offered little to no relief.

Sometimes he would hear footsteps a ways down behind him, and then he'd look and no one was there.

It was getting to the point where he debated going to the frigid deck to look over the pool graveyard and clogged hot tubs. Now, he finds himself asking why he hadn't.

He's not sure what drove him to explore now of all times.

Three days they'd been on this ship after Nicky tricked them into a cruise for their family vacation, and Andrew hadn't set foot anywhere but the bar and cafe. Andrew's insistence that he'd rather not be a Titanic survivor (because he would survive, yes, he's too petty to not), and Aaron's global warming presentation, had done nothing to convince Nicky otherwise.

And now he’s stuck. Andrew had endured far worse things than a ten day trip at sea though, and he'd managed to find comfort in the company of the bartender managing the pub on the seventh floor.

Yet, when the elevator opened on seven, Andrew stayed in. Another mistake that led him to his ruin. Andrew simply stared out onto the floor, and he could see the pub from across the corridor, blasting some overrated pop song. He could practically smell the liquor and feel the stickiness, things that were normal to him. He was but a man, and it had been the first place he ventured. He tried to think of Roland's rough hands and weight on his tongue, anything to get his excitement up. But there was nothing.

Not tonight.

And that wouldn't be so surprising, if not for Andrew's own self awareness. His relationship with touch in relation to his sex drive has never been simple, and it's not uncommon for him to feel his skin crawl at the thought of someone in his bubble. So, he wasn't always in the mood. That would be fine but—

That's not what he was feeling. He felt in control, calm even. He simply didn't want Roland's company, another part of his brain itching to walk away.

So he did; Andrew doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do.

Andrew let the elevator close and carry him up onto the ninth, where he found the lounge.

And now, he fears he might never leave.

Smooth jazz trickles through his ears, broken up by cheesy sound effects and dramatic drums. It's a mishmash, a collection that doesn't work, but nothing about this should work.

Nothing about this should be luring Andrew in, but it's _his_ fault.

The lights of the lounge flash in rapid succession; blue, yellow, pink. It's always fast, small blips that pierce his eyes, followed by an unnatural five seconds of darkness. It's enough to give Andrew a headache, because it's enough to light up the stage.

It's fucking _enough_ time for him to see the true color of those eyes; they're ocean blue, and infinitely bored. They pin Andrew to the spot, and they piss him off because they aren't looking at him. They're staring through him, like the man on stage would rather be anywhere else.

They'd been a lure from the moment Andrew sat down at the small bar, and the man was his own magnetic field, reeling Andrew in without so much as trying.

And it's infuriating.

Andrew glares right at the man, through the darkness. He's not sure if the man can see, in fact Andrew knows he can't. He's not interested in Andrew and that makes Andrew want to be closer. He hates being close to anyone.

That excitement missing from the seventh floor peaks and spikes to new levels, and Andrew can only think: _there you are._

The man continues to stand there, unfazed by the crowd and those around him with arms hanging limply at his side. He's got zero charisma, none of the fake charm these stage acts generally try to put on. A girl in a childish, sparkly dress nudges him, smiling broadly for the crowd as she gestures with jazz hands towards him.

_"Give another round of applause for The Dazzling Josten!"_

The crowd roars, despite the man on stage barely managing to seem apathetic instead of annoyed; he's in a swirling blue waistcoat, a deep arrangement meant to look like a nebula. It's velvet, with the first button popped, and Andrew tries not to think about what it would be like to pop the others. _The Dazzling Josten,_ huh?

He doesn't seem too dazzled on his own.

Josten's waistcoat is accompanied by purple, puffy sleeves with white sparkles. The ruffles look scratchy, and quite honestly...easy to rip. He wears tight black pants and oxfords, and looks equally uncomfortable in both as he stumbles forward to bow halfway. It's almost rude, but the crowd is either too drunk or captivated to care.

From then on he performs some final tricks, but Andrew's not even invested in the impressive way the boy utilizes misdirection. It's more interesting to see how easy it is for him, how flawlessly he deceives people. It's more than hiding cards or pulling things out of people's purses. It's fluid, it's practiced.

Far, far too interesting.

The usual cheap tricks of finding missing items, teleporting, and seemingly manipulating his assistant's body do what they're meant to; people cheer and offer their standing ovations, all of them roll off the man like they're hitting a wall.

Andrew briefly recalls the obnoxious sign hanging outside of the lounge.

_'Tonight's show: Believe in magic? Come see a real magician perform spellbinding tricks!'_

Andrew snorts into his cup. How stupid. Ridiculous. Idiotic.

The man is gorgeous.

Thus, to Andrew's disgust, he's spellbound after all.

He orders another drink soon after that and stays for the second show. He watches the first crowd clear out and the second come in, and Josten's set remains the same, yet he is ever changing in Andrew's eyes. There's new sparks of irritation and panic that light up those eyes whenever a crowd member gets too close, or interrupts, and there's a new lilt or lull in his voice when he's barely holding it together.

Andrew tries and tries to identify the accent, but it's a strange morph of many. Andrew would make fun of it, if he could only manage.

He hates this man.

Andrew accompanies each flash of light with a swallow of whiskey, and he holds it in his mouth just to feel the pain of the chill on his molars. It's what he deserves. The ice sloshes and his glass weeps, or sweats, if he's going to project that much.

It's too warm.

The lights and fog machine cake up the air and he feels like he's no longer on a ship a hundred miles out; there's an audience spread out before him in lined, cheap seats, but it does nothing to break the illusion that he's at a club or party. It's all too normal, except the man in Andrew's sights has no idea, has no care, that he's got Andrew hanging off everything he does.

Andrew tries to deny that as soon as he thinks it, but it's pointless.

Yes, the bar digs into his back as his blood pumps faster, and Andrew is growing weaker and more predictable by the day. Finding a pretty boy at the bar...

That's typical, that's Roland.

He could do that on the seventh floor.

But this is life ruining.

He needs to cool off probably; he's had one too many drinks and he's not himself. If he could just leave, he'd wake up and all this would seem childish and overdramatic, a result of his boredom. He'd never come back.

Yet he stays there, and looks over at the giant floor to ceiling windows that lead to the deck.

If he jumped off the side of the boat...maybe, maybe that would be refreshing enough. Or perhaps he'd be swept up, and it wouldn't be his problem anymore.

He doesn't get much time to debate that scenario.

The show ends, and he watches as the assistant brings the magician some water; she's smiling wide and teasingly, and Andrew wonders if she's his girlfriend. Probably better that way, less room to entertain these bizarre ideas in his head. But the man only blinks at her, offering her a wry smile and no touch.

Then, to Andrew's not-panic (he does not panic), the magician hops off the stage and begins to walk towards the bar.

Andrew turns to stone.

There's rattling behind him as the bartender cracks open a coke, but Andrew's too fixated to even focus on the movement. It's less of a threat than the man in front of him.

"Nice show, Neil," the bartender says, and slides the soda over, along with a rather large stack of napkins. "Oh shit!"

The bartender, Matt, according to his nametag, overshoots the can and it nearly barrels to the floor. Andrew's instincts are good though.

Unfortunately, so are this man's.

He and Neil both catch the can at the same time, and their fingers interlock. The chill of the metal is nothing compared to the full assault of Neil's expression. Andrew keeps his breathing steady, but for once, it's a struggle. Neil's eyes widen and his face turns to ash, and the gaze that used to be cool, refreshing waters, turns to a tumultuous abyss. Still so, so blue.

Fuck.

Andrew wretches away like he's been burned, and keeps his expression uncaring. The skin that touched Neil's seems to simmer, retaining the heat.

He's good at this, thankfully. He's good at blending in and looking above it all. It unsettles people, makes them give him a wide berth. Exactly what he needs.

He expects the normal response to come from Neil; the stuttered apologies, the shyness or babbling, the weird looks.

He hopes for it actually.

It would make the man typical, boring. Not worth Andrew's time. It would be the cold douse of seawater Andrew needs. Pretty boys being pretty boys. He can resist them if they're no different from anyone else.

But Neil doesn't do any of those things, doesn’t fret even a bit.

His face scrunches up, and Andrew is actually taller than him on the barstool, but Neil still gives him an expression that tries to make Andrew feel small. He rudely turns away without a word, not wasting time with pointless politeness. "Thanks Matt."

Ignored.

And Andrew's world spins in an unending carousel.

"Neil..." Matt chides lowly, laughing off his friend’s rudeness. "Hey, sorry about that bro."

Andrew doesn't respond. He glares at Neil, which is more than anyone would ever get from him. His attention, his reaction.

Dangerous.

Neil takes his time grabbing a napkin and roughly sliding it over his face. A smear of brown makeup clouds the white when Neil pulls it back, and does the same to the other side, before finally turning back to Andrew.

Andrew's blood runs hot.

The scars on Neil's face are prominent, slash-like burns. They travel from the edges of his lower eyelids and down his high cheekbones, raising the skin. Andrew's hand tightens in the bar, because he briefly imagines tracing the curve of it.

When Neil turns back to him, brow quirked, the main descriptor still blares in Andrew's mind: _gorgeous_.

He wonders if that was Neil's intent, and reasons that it wasn't. Neil is trying to deter him even further, to spook him, as the scars usually would to anyone else.

Andrew is not everyone else, and unbeknownst to Neil, he's sealed Andrew's pathetic fate. The lights of the lounge haven't stopped, despite the show's end, and they bounce off Neil's features like he's a dream. Unreal.

He hears Matt's sharp inhale beside him, but Andrew pays the panic no mind. He's fixated.

And then, because it could not get any worse for Andrew's health, Neil graces him with the barest hint of a smirk. His hand drifts slowly between them, curled into a fist, before he finally makes a _poof_ gesture.

And while Neil may not say anything, the intent is clear: _my fucks all disappeared._

And that's enough, and yet not even close to it, for one night.

Once Andrew feels heat scramble up the back of his neck, he hops off the stool and gets out of there. He can vaguely hear Matt's whine from behind him as he chastises Neil about the importance of customer service, or some other bullshit, but Andrew doesn't care.

He needs to leave.

It doesn't do much for him though; he sees Neil's face, his eyes, in the back of his head as he stalks back to his room. It's a cruise ship, so the shades of blue are everywhere, not helping him to forget in the slightest.

And then there were the burns, they brought out the blue even more. They were testaments to Neil's survival. From what, Andrew doesn't know, and he can't help but itch at his own armbands the entire walk to his cabin.

He'll never know, but he doesn't have to. The scars spoke loudly enough, and Andrew would never forget them. It's his curse.

Untruthfully, Andrew hopes he never has to see Neil again, and stumbles back down the narrow corridors to his room. When he gets there, it's dark, and Nicky's snores drift through the walls from next door.

Andrew flops into bed as the ship lurches, his stomach swirling, and not even his cats are there to comfort him.

\--

But he does see Neil again, and it's all he needs to convince him that this 'problem' will not go away.

"Come on, guys!" Nicky whines, and he ushers both the twins towards the cabin door with his arms, trying his best to woo them with his convincing smile. They don't move.

Nicky was never much of a seller.

They sit on Nicky's bed, arms crossed. Aaron at least bothered to get dressed in the outfit Nicky picked for him, rather than hear him whine. Andrew points out to Aaron that he is in fact, an adult (and Andrew would know, since they're twins), and is subsequently flipped off.

Nicky's smile gradually dims as the silence settles, and Andrew is used to awkward silences. He's far better than Nicky at waiting them out, and letting people down when they expect things from him that he cannot give. Aaron fidgets.

Nicky sighs as he lets the cabin door swing shut with an obnoxious click, sealing them in from the sounds of people passing. Whatever party is being hosted in the main ballroom...Andrew isn't interested.

But, Nicky is, since it branded itself as LGBT friendly, with a last chance dance type theme. It's something Nicky would eat up, and Andrew doesn't feel guilty, but he avoids thinking about all the dances in high school Nicky must've avoided like the plague. Or maybe he suffered through them. It's not like Luther was a tolerant man.

Andrew isn't keen on leaving his room for the rest of the trip unless it's to eat though; he hasn't seen any sign of Neil or whisper of him, but it's risky.

If Andrew sees him, he might just find it harder to leave.

Nicky stumbles towards them a bit as the ship rocks, holding his stomach. Why Nicky picked a cruise when he gets seasick...Andrew's not sure.

His cousin's bracelets clank together as he moves his hands, dressed in his normal clubbing attire. He looks at them fondly, despite their insistence on ruining his plans. The twins both inhale, ready to deter from the usual sappiness they expect from Nicky. It's not hard, but when Nicky begins to be genuine...

That's where they run into trouble. It's more frequent as of late, to the point where Andrew doesn't keep score. It feels less like losing, and so there's less a need.

Nicky sits outside their bubble at the built in desk, smiling sheepishly, and Andrew can almost predict how this will go. He will lose, and he hates it. Years ago, he would have no problem curb stomping Nicky's dreams into the dirt. Now, when Nicky is actually respectful and open to Andrew's deals...

There's no need or reason for a denial.

Nicky sighs, bowing his head. "Look you two, I know this isn't your scene, and I won't force you. That's...that's not what I want anymore. I'm already happy you're with me on this trip!"

He laughs, but it's strained, and he and Aaron remain stiff. They have a turn system of who gets to choose where they go every school vacation, it was Nicky's turn, they had no choice.

But they get it.

Years ago, the idea of that turn system, equal and beneficial, would not have even existed.

And hot magician or not, it has not been the worst vacation of Andrew's life.

There's a dessert bar, anyways.

Nicky ruffles his styled hair and that's how Andrew knows it's serious. It's ruined now, and Nicky doesn't even seem to care. "I just...I'm asking, because if I'm being honest, going alone scares me," Nicky says, voice breaking at the end. He swallows thickly, and Andrew was right. Perhaps the last chance theme does hit his cousin too close to home. It's not Andrew's problem, and Nicky should have the backbone to take what he wants.

But that feels strangely hypocritical, and Andrew has no need to explore why.

"So even if you just walk me there, that would be enough," Nicky says, and before Andrew can open his mouth to say no, Nicky raises his hands in surrender. "And I won't make you wake up for tomorrow's brunch."

Andrew cannot say for certainty his answer would've been a definitive no, but the idea of not waking up early does appeal to him.

Nicky gives them the biggest puppy dog eyes he can manage, and while they have no effect on Andrew, they crumble the last of Aaron's resistance. His twin groans up to the ceiling, throwing himself back onto the bed. " _Fine_."

Nicky claps, and now, Andrew fails to see why he has to go. One twin, and frankly the more social one, is already going, so why should he?

But Nicky looks over at him expectantly, excitedly, and Andrew doesn't have the energy to point out that he just wouldn't have gone to the brunch anyways.

This effort of his is new, but he's trying to find less reason to resist it. Nicky is asking, not pushing. He will make his move in kind.

Andrew nods once, conceding, and Nicky nearly hits his head on the low cabin ceiling when he jumps up in his heeled boots.

He only needs to stick around long enough for Nicky to latch onto some cute guy or group of friends; once Andrew assesses there's no threat, he can cut to the dessert bar on the fifth floor and come back to his room.

That's the plan.

"Yay!" Nicky says, still jumping in place as the twins drag their feet towards the door. "C'mon, c'mon!"

They tag along behind Nicky like unfortunate ducklings up the elevator and through the twelfth floor corridors, and all the while, there's an itch on the back of Andrew's neck. The hallway is a straight shot, nowhere to hide, nowhere to escape. But when he turns around, no one is there.

His survival instincts are something he prides himself on, though they've been dulled after a few years of peace. The paranoia and awareness will never leave him, but at the moment, he doesn't feel threatened.

Just pent up, way up.

"Who knows," Nicky hums in front of them, heels clicking on the floor beneath. "Maybe you'll both meet the loves of your lives here. _Then_ you'll have to thank me for the rest of your lives."

Nicky smirks back at them, and Aaron snorts. "Yeah, that's what'll happen."

Andrew shuts out the sounds of their bickering, and doesn't say anything.

\--

He plans to stay at the party for exactly twenty minutes.

It's long enough to ensure Nicky is alright, and no longer needs them. Aaron is already off flirting with the DJ, a girl with a frankly atrocious jean vest littered in Disney pins, but Aaron seems far from put off by her scrunchies and braces so Andrew figures he can do what he wants. Nicky has already found a group of his own; they're German tourists, and even in his heels, Nicky doesn't tower over the man he's chatting up vigorously.

The night is favoring his plan.

Twenty minutes, and he'll be convinced they're both fine on their own. Andrew leans against the wall in the shadows; the party itself is not too lively. There's a decent chunk of people, but not enough that people notice him being a wallflower, or brush up against him. But the music eerily reminds him of the one in the lounge, and he stares at the old school clock that hangs off the entrance until his twenty minutes is lost to the wind.

Nicky and Aaron are still all smiles.

Andrew pushes off the wall with his black boots, and he pulls up the hood on his sweatshirt as he pats his pockets for cigarettes.

But perhaps he overestimated his own escape abilities; his feet follow the wall to the back exit, the one that leads to the side of the ship. It's mostly for crew, he knows, and for smokers like him. There's nothing there, nothing to see but vast, black ocean. The lifeboats hang there, and Andrew spent his first evening there, wondering what it would take to release one.

As he thinks back on his theory, on why the Titanic is a dumb movie, the twenty-first minute passes. He kicks open the door as he finds his cigarettes, and it's too late when he realizes the railing is already occupied.

Andrew freezes, but the door clicks behind him, and he's in ocean blue crosshairs.

Neil's not hiding his scars today; that's Andrew's first observation. It's followed by an involuntary satisfaction at seeing Neil without the fluff and illusions, and then incalculable tension.

This was not what he wanted, and yet—

He can tell Neil recognizes him instantly.

Neil's face pales before settling like the sea behind him, hiding more tumultuous waters beneath the surface. The chill that runs through Andrew has nothing to do with the waters, and everything to do with how Neil fidgets with the bottom of his sweater. His grip tightens on the cold railing, and Andrew can't help but stare.

Neil stands under the only light for yards, almost eerie looking. The scars on his face play well with the shadows, but Andrew's gut twists with the need to move towards him.

It's annoying, as is his brain's inability to do much but fixate on the magician. It keeps stalling and whirring, and Andrew clicks his tongue as he takes in Neil's outfit.

At least that's one thing he can say; Neil's no costume designer, and he's clearly not the one who picks his stage outfits. He is one level above a homeless person.

"Sparkles," Andrew greets him, because the infuriating part of his brain tells him he can't let Neil know he cared enough to remember his name.

Neil's face falls into a glare, more like _sinks_. His eyes narrow in a blink and Andrew holds back a sigh at the disgusted curl of his lips.

_"Neil."_

It's only for a second, but hearing Neil's voice without the rehearsed script or poor dramatic flair is an unfortunate symphony to his ears. An angry, petty one.

Andrew shrugs lazily as he flicks his lighter, igniting the tip of his cigarette. He doesn't miss the way Neil stops and stares, teeth digging into his plush bottom lip.

_Oh?_

Teasingly, Andrew dangles the pack in front of Neil before walking to his own section of railing; He's close enough to Neil to reach out and touch, but not close enough to cause a fight or flight reaction. He has a feeling Neil likes his space.

And Neil's pride must not be as stubborn as Andrew's. That, or he's really desperate for a smoke.

"Can I have one?" Neil asks, fidgeting more with his sweater. Andrew wants to reach into the knitted holes that are already forming, and tear.

Quirking a brow, Andrew gives nothing away as he holds a cigarette by the very end in front of Neil. Neil zeroes in on it, reaching forward, and just as his fingertips are close enough to touch, Andrew drops it.

It bounces off the deck and hits the one below them. Neil stares at the floor before he's glaring back at Andrew again, and Andrew chooses then to blow smoke in his face. Lazily, he brings his hand up to Neil's face, and makes a _poof_ gesture.

Neil's frown turns into a razor sharp smile, and Andrew does not get weak knees. He doesn't.

"Very funny," Neil says with a humorless chuckle, and lightning fast, his hand flies up to snap his fingers. Jolting, Andrew's gaze flies to Neil's raised hand, and he notes all too late how stupid he is.

Just another tourist.

Sighing, he closes his eyes before dragging his gaze back to Neil's other hand, only to find his cigarette pack there. Well, guess it's not his anymore.

He rolls his eyes, but admits defeat. Neil's still ahead of him, and has been since Andrew first laid eyes on him. "Good one."

"I try," Neil says with a smirk, and holds his stick out for a light.

Andrew notes the way he breathes in the first hit slowly, letting it flood his lungs. Then, he exhales down, staring until the smoke swirls and fades at Andrew's feet.

Neil doesn't take another drag.

"Is that why you're out here, too many people vying for your attention?" Andrew asks. He's not impressed with cheap tricks, but it's hard not to be woo-ed. Ugh. He pushes it away by trying to cut his dreams off at the ankles. "Your girlfriend is probably looking for you."

Neil grimaces. "What?"

And Andrew already feels his hope dwindling as he says, "the assistant."

"Oh, Dan," Neil whispers, like that name means anything to Andrew. "She's Matt's wife."

 _Dammit_.

"She forced me to come, though," Neil says, smiling wryly. He digs the cigarette into the railing rather aggressively, watching the ash rain down. "Thinks I need to get back out there. She said thirty minutes, then I could leave."

Andrew ignores the 'get back out there,' because he would rather not entertain the possibility of Neil getting with him. If only Andrew had been more paranoid, he would've missed Neil entirely by adding ten lousy minutes to his own timer.

Neil pulls away from the railing but keeps his hands wrapped tightly around the metal, hanging there. He looks out to the sea the way Andrew does, as if wishing it would swallow them all whole at any moment.

Neil quirks a brow in Andrew's direction, and Neil knows nothing about him, but the way his brow furrows...

He must know enough about people.

"What about you?" Neil asks, because surely Andrew wouldn't be seen at such a jovial party if he had no other choice. He almost feels like calling Neil out about the assumption, but Andrew's not in the mood to entertain pointless tangents such as that.

Neil is a stranger, he reminds himself. Is that why Andrew cares less?

Andrew doesn't have to answer him. He shouldn't. Won't.

"My cousin," he says, and bites the beginning of his curse off before it can leave his lips. _Strangers_. Andrew doesn't divulge things to strangers, but he is inclined with Neil. It doesn't just have to do with looks. Neil's explanation had felt more like a vent, albeit one Andrew hadn't asked for. Yet, Neil is someone who could live on a whole different continent; the odds of them seeing each other after this trip is over are low.

There's no threat in returning it.

Andrew shrugs when Neil blinks at him, and yes, Andrew doesn't look like the type to do favors either. "I gave myself twenty minutes before I could leave."

Neil blinks again, and Andrew hates the way his mouth forms a little 'o' within kissing distance. Then, slowly, his lips turn down into a full frown, and he pulls himself back up until he's flush against the railing. "Not trying to get out there?"

Andrew would think Neil is making fun of him, if it weren't for the genuine expression on his face. Confusion. Naivety. Neil blinks at him, before turning to the sea.

Well, Andrew guesses if Neil is a cruise ship act, he'd be used to people wanting nothing more than to hook up. Apart from family vacations, cruises are getaways, places where people can feel new and do things without strings attached. Andrew thinks back to Neil's friend Dan, the way she encouraged him to do the same.

Neil almost looks relieved, to see Andrew wants nothing to do with it.

And well, that's not entirely true, but Andrew's reasons for gravitating to pretty boys has nothing to do with being on this ship. And despite that, he has a feeling his interest in Neil goes far beyond that too.

Andrew puts out his half finished cigarette and lights another.

"Stop saying it like that," he grumbles, and Neil's gaze shoots back to him. "I could ask the same."

Neil smiles a bit. "You don't seem like the type to care."

"I'm bored," Andrew answers too fast, and closes his eyes. Neil is either oblivious or taking pity on Andrew (though he can't imagine why), because he doesn't notice Andrew's flustered slip-ups. It makes him more appealing; other boys may poke and prod, slide into Andrew's space...

They'd ruin it.

But Neil nods, gesturing vaguely back towards the ballroom. The bright dance lights drift through the frosted windows, not quite reaching Neil's sneakers. Andrew wastes another cigarette watching him furrow his brow like that, and if hours were to pass, he wouldn't know or care.

Eventually, Neil sighs, and must figure Andrew is someone he can talk to as well. It's just one night. "I don't...like these things because...." Neil bites his lip, glaring at the dancing shadows. "The expectation."

Andrew doesn't rush him, only waits. He considers himself good with his words, with a hatred of speech. Neil seems like he's just as quiet, but bumbling. Andrew swallows his growl, because it's not cute.

Neil shrugs again. "The moment you go into something with the intent of romance, it kind of ruins things, no? At least for me. Who wants that?"

Neil laughs to himself after a moment, and he must echo the same thing Andrew does: _a lot of people do._

And Andrew doesn't think they're wrong, he's just never been able to relate. Getting off, making out...he can do all that. People who expect more from the start...

He hates it.

Neil smiles ruefully. "I know what you're thinking. That's not normal—"

"It's how you are," is all Andrew says, and Neil blinks at him.

Pisses Andrew off.

It's an immeasurable rage, especially when Neil smiles at him gratefully. Andrew wasn't trying to do him a favor, but the idea that a lot of people have probably shrugged off Neil's explanation makes Andrew's blood simmer about as much as his own complicated emotions.

_Stop smiling._

But Neil doesn't, and he has the audacity to look shy. "I guess I'm the type of person who can only do that stuff when there's already been a connection? I don't know. I think so."

Somehow, it makes sense. Though, Andrew can't say he relates to that either.

"Like with a friend?" He asks anyways, because learning the fine tunings of Neil's mind is proving to be quite rewarding. Satisfying.

"Mhm," Neil says with a quick nod. Then, he winces to himself. "Not exactly an easy thing though."

_Yeah._

Andrew allows himself a small huff of laughter, and Neil's glare bounces right off him. "Oh? For someone as polite as you?"

"Fuck you."

And Andrew doesn't tell him that can potentially be arranged. He does have his own cabin.

But at this point, it's all for Andrew's fantasies, and his fantasies alone. Neil wouldn't be the type to sleep with him like that, it's clear. Somehow, Andrew doesn't mind. The unfortunate yearn remains deep in his chest, angry, but at himself, not Neil. Once the possibility was crushed, he should've lost interest.

Yet, here he is.

"You've had that before then?" Andrew asks. "A connection."

"Sort of," Neil answers, and makes an 'eh' face to himself. "I liked him enough to realize that was...how I was. But it wasn't enough to make me fully believe. It doesn't matter one way or another, does it?"

Andrew doesn't answer. Part of him wonders if there's more to Neil's question than Andrew can possibly make sense of, remnants of a past and experiences that Andrew will never know, because he doesn't know Neil.

It echoes.

_It doesn't matter one way or another, does it?"_

Yes, he thinks Neil is right. Some things happen, some don't. One outcome is not necessarily better than the other, it just _is_.

At Andrew's silence, Neil smirks lightly, and rubs the back of his neck. Andrew fixates on the constellation tattoo right behind his ear; he hadn't noticed it before, all detailed lines and faded black. "I guess I shouldn't make assumptions," Neil says, and Andrew misses the insinuation by miles. That is, until Neil's smirk falls. "You're dating Roland, yeah?"

Andrew freezes, and tries to make sense of that statement.

Him. Roland. Him Dating. Him dating Roland.

_Yeah, no._

It doesn't compute in the slightest, and Andrew shakes his head. "We're friends."

Neil blinks at him, disbelieving. Well, Andrew can't hope of denying anything when Neil is among the crew, can he? "We're not dating," he clarifies.

Neil makes an 'ah' noise, and his sheepish smile comes back.

"Oh, hanging out, then," he says, too politely for someone so fucking rude and blunt. Neil laughs at Andrew's deadpan expression. It devolves into a sigh, and Neil is back to hanging off the railing. "I'm relieved. I saved you some heartache."

Andrew waits, but doesn't give Neil the satisfaction he's looking for by asking what he means. He doesn't give a damn, truly. He's only upset Neil's not relieved for other reasons.

Neil huffs. "Roland's also _hanging out_ with the the guy in 2C."

"Good for him."

It's a relief actually; Roland was starting to get a bit close for comfort, and Andrew hates the inconvenience of having to reject someone who clearly didn't listen to the rules he laid out.

Rules that clearly aren't applying to Neil.

"I told him I didn't want that," Andrew states vaguely, and Neil nods, like he understands completely. They're different, but Andrew gets a sense that's one thing they share.

He wonders if Neil is actually trying to find that connection though.

Andrew wonders if he's stumbled into it.

He closes his eyes as silence descends between them, comfortable and soft in the face of harsh sea winds. It's cold, frigid enough for Andrew's cheeks to feel flushed. He's beginning to get that uncomfortable feeling in his stomach as the ship sways, as if his stomach is taking an elevator upwards through his body. It rises and falls, teasing seasickness coupled with something far more terrifying.

Andrew rarely wants things, and never admits it when he does. Yet, when there is something he craves...

There's an inkling of disappointment when he can't have it.

But it's not his to have, so the feeling lapses, his stomach easing into ripples instead of waves.

Neil lays his elbows across the railing and pillows his head on top of them, turning on his cheek to stare calmly at Andrew.

He allows it, for a while, fixating on the blackness. However, after five minutes of the intense gaze burning a hole in his cheek, it becomes harder not to stare back. It's too enticing not to, knowing a bright blue abyss of secrets and triumph awaits him.

He turns, and he's right.

He revises his earlier statement; gorgeous, while a ridiculous descriptor, simply does not do Neil any justice. "Staring," Andrew tries to say, but it comes out as a whisper.

"Why are you here?" Neil asks, ignoring the accusation, and Andrew's breathing stutters. It's more than what it seems, but it's not asked knowingly. Neil, despite the shadows he's shrouded in, has been surprisingly forthcoming. Everything he asks, he means. He wouldn't pose the question otherwise, but in this case, Andrew's not sure he has the answer.

He has the facts; that's what he's always been good at. The reasons, the explanations...those are harder.

Those are weaknesses.

"Why are any of us here?"

Neil snorts. "Are you always so dramatic?"

_Says the magician._

But Andrew doesn't have much fight left in him at the moment, not when it comes to Neil. He wonders if this is some sort of trick too, a spell Neil has put him under. If it is, it's a damn good one.

"I told you, my cousin," Andrew repeats, though Neil already knows. He's not giving him the truth, because he's still forming it, and Neil lets him talk through it. The facts are a crutch that Andrew doesn't want to acknowledge. "He said I needed to get out more, but really he was too chicken shit to come alone."

And despite it being a wall in some form, Neil smirks, like he's seen through it anyways. He gleans information from Andrew without trying.

"So you came," he repeats, and Andrew knows what he's thinking. Andrew wishes he would stop.

Andrew suddenly hopes Neil's _connection_ is not something that exists for him. That this is a mirage, and not a perfect example. He doesn't need someone knowing and seeing through him, through his deals and deeds that even he can't admit aren't for his own benefit.

Yes, he came. He helped his cousin. He doesn't need Neil to point it out.

He glares at Neil in warning. "Don't read too much into it."

But it tells Neil a lot about him, silence or not. And Neil chooses then to not be patient with him; he goes back to pouncing, to the man who snapped his fingers confidently. He does not let Andrew forget. "But why are you really _here_?"

And while Andrew still has no answer, he won't start lying to Neil now. The strangers excuse is becoming less and less solid as he goes. He clings to it.

"I'm not sure," Andrew answers, and tries to find a pattern in the sky similar to the one behind Neil's ear. He can't find that either, and looks back to the blue eyes that haven't left him for a moment. Suddenly, that makes it a little clearer. "I saw you, and decided not to leave."

It shouldn't make sense, but for him it's...

It's more than he's given in a while. He expects things that he gives to feel like missing pieces, carved out of him in sacrifice with a pain to accompany it. But this does not; it's not something he had to give unwillingly. He could have said no.

It's a relief, like the cold, or cleansing, like the salt in the air.

Neil nods, and Andrew can tell he doesn't understand, not fully. He doesn't know he's somehow captured Andrew's attention in that way, but he accepts it. Probably because it's the same reason he didn't leave.

But perhaps that's Andrew's fleeting hope again, dug from a grave he buried long ago.

"Okay," Neil says with a smile, and it lights a fire in Andrew. He's not sure what to say or why, he just feels like he has to. That want is foreign, but not harsh.

"I don't seek things out," he explains, in hopes it will make Neil see what he's done. How infuriating he is. Andrew would never be here unless...

Unless there was something. He huffs and digs the heel of his shoe into his old cigarette on the floor. He stomps it until it's light enough for the wind to carry it away. "Usually if it were up to me, I'd be with my kids."

And Neil, the absolute fool, still doesn't get it. How the magician, a master of misdirection, can focus on the wrong part of the confession...

"Kids?" Neil asks.

Andrew sighs, and settles in for the long haul. He's hardly aware of it yet, but he has a feeling...

The rest of his days out at sea will contain more of Neil than he originally planned.

"My cats," he confesses, hopeless, and isn't surprised in the slightest when Neil's face lights up like the stars above. So, Andrew gives some more. "I have two."

And Neil's gasp, though innocent, is more than Andrew could've asked for. "Any pictures?"

\--

But things never stay settled in permanence.

He spends his remaining days in the empty lounge before opening, talking to Neil and making him drinks with Matt's say so.

He cannot keep this.

He tells himself over and over, even as he catalogues all of Neil's smiles, laughs, and scowls to memory. Andrew decides, no matter how impermanent things are in life, he will remember the way Neil's face scrunches up when he tries an old fashioned, and the delight in his eyes when Andrew invites him to hang out in his room.

 _Gorgeous_ , and it makes Andrew mad, more so as the days fly by. He cannot have this.

And he doesn't believe he will keep this, no matter how much he learns about Neil or what the magician proposes.

He's ready to tell Neil this on the last day aboard the ship, with less than an hour to spare. He watches Neil's face light up though, and all his goodbyes and denials dissolve on his tongue. They're never able to exist, and suddenly it's their first meeting all over again.

Andrew can't find the words, can't say anything to Neil's face when he looks at Andrew like that, soft and excited as he hands Andrew an envelope with his address and phone number scribbled on it.

"Write me," Neil says, wrenching his hands away as soon as Andrew silently takes the letter in his hands. He's...shyer now, more than Andrew remembers; it's the way Neil messes with his fringe and bows his head. That can't have anything to do with Andrew though, and he'll keep telling himself that until he's off the ship.

If he does it any sooner, he'll surely stay here.

Neil babbles a bit, and this is where Andrew should put his refusal. He should hand the letter back, and tell Neil it won't work. It's pointless. "I won't get any of them for a few months until I dock back home but sometimes phones don't work here and—"

"Okay," Andrew says, slicing through Neil's convincing. He doesn't need it, and he was a fool himself for believing he could do anything but accept.

Andrew's not sure what this is, if he believes in the connection Neil posed.

But...he's at the point where he's ready to find out. Like Neil, that just might be magic...

Though, Andrew thinks it's much realer than that.

Neil pauses and blinks at Andrew, and then his smile shines throughout the hallway, brighter than stage lights.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
